A Wizard's Last Rites
by The Hourglass Mage
Summary: My first submission. A family of wizards gathers to lay their father to rest...at least, that's the plan...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Grievous News**

Glock Gringamore Grummersome, Head Wizard of the Academy of Physiks and Magiks for Young Wizards of the Future, stood with his hands on his hips, turning to face his owl familiar, Calendar, who was perched on the back of a couch, cleaning his feathers innocently. The wizard leaned forward, his hat tipping dangerously low. "_Calendar, where did you put my wand???_" he screeched. Calendar turned his head all the way around and glared at the wizard, who returned the glower over his gold-rimmed spectacles, which were perched on the end of his thin nose.

"How should I know?" the owl insisted. "You're forever misplacing it. Did you look between the seat cushions? After all, that's where it was _last _time you lost it."

"I looked between the seat cushions, and under the chair, I even looked in the flower vase," he waved his hand to indicate a broken glass vase lying on the floor, its wilted roses floating in a puddle of water. "it's nowhere to be seen! And I know you took it!"

"What would I want with that old thing?" the owl sniffed. "It's just as likely to do more harm to the wielder than it is the target."

"If you don't tell me where my wand is right this very second, I'll-"

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Glock called, shooting his familiar a look that promised he would get back to him later. Calendar rolled his eyes and flew up to his perch, his eyes on the door as Glock hurried to open it. In the doorway stood a flamboyantly dressed figure.

"HESTER!" Glock cried happily, embracing the figure in the doorway, which happened to be a fellow wizard, perhaps a few years old than Glock himself, (and that is a respectably old age, I do assure you).

"Glock!" Hester stumbled back slightly at the force of his brother's hug, his purple velvet robes causing him to almost fall face-first into the dirt. "It's so good to see you, alas!" his face was grim. "I come bearing most ill tidings!"

"What ill tidings, brother?" Glock inquired as he led his brother until the house, shutting the door with some difficulty.

"Alas, alas," Hester wept, wiping away tears of most genuine sorrow on the edge of his sleeve. "our father has died!"

"My wand!" Glock exclaimed happily, brandishing his wand in triumph. "I remember now! I used it as a doorstop!"

"Brother! Have you no tears for our poor father?" Hester demanded in angry astonishment.

"What?" Glock looked up. "Oh, well, yes, I suppose. I'm sad he had to die and all that, but he _was _rather old..."

"A respectable age!" Hester insisted through his tears. "He lived to see the great Fall, and the new Age..."

"Did he leave us in his will, do you think?" Glock wondered aloud.

"You think he did?" Hester brightened considerably. "Well, of course he did! We were his beloved sons, were we not? I could use some new robes..." he smoothed out the front of his current attire as he spoke, a small smile on his face.

"Where's the funeral going to be held?" Glock asked, stashing his wand in his sleeve.

"Ah, yes, the funeral," Hester remembered he was supposed to be grieving. "mother has left the arrangements up to us. She is too aggrieved to make any important decisions."

"Really?" Glock exclaimed. "We get to plan the funeral ... and everything?"

Hester nodded solemnly.

"Oh, gods," Calendar muttered under his breath. "their poor father."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Preparations**

Glock, Hester, and Calendar all hopped into Hester's carriage and started off for the family mansion. Hester explained to Glock that their mother had walked in the bedroom that morning to hand their father his breakfast and the morning paper, except that she could not get him to wake up. She shook him and shouted into his ear but he wouldn't stir, and he just lay there, still as if chiseled from marble. That, he said, was all he could decipher from her incoherent babbles over the phone in between gushes of fresh tears.

"Alas, our poor mother!" Glock moaned, staring gloomily out the window at the very sunny, cheerful day that did not seem at all appropriate for such a grim trip. "Tell me, my dear brother, did she happen to say who he was before he died? I would hate to give the old boy a funeral fit for King Henry VIII if he was Napoleon Bonaparte at the time."

"Ah, that is a slight bit of a difficulty," Hester said under his breath, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "we don't know who he was before he died. Last I saw of him was a week ago when he was Julius Cesar, and you know how prone the old boy was to changing his mind..."

"How are we to bury him, then?"

"Dead is dead, I highly doubt he'll care," Calendar said dryly. "you could always have him cremated."

"A novel idea!" Glock exclaimed.

"Cremation?" Hester stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose that would do very nicely. Imagine all the expenses that could be saved...on coffins and such..."

"What clothes will you bury him in?" Calendar's inquiry was followed by a long stretch of silence (which the owl greatly relished) that lasted the entire road.

"Silk," Hester announced solemnly, pulling in front of the family mansion. "it must be silk, there is no question."

"Does silk burn all that well?" Glock wondered aloud.

"I'm not sure," Hester admitted. "perhaps soaked in gasoline..." the footman opened the door, and the two stepped out, Hester holding his robes up in one hand to avoid tripping. Calendar flew out after them and landed on Glock's shoulder. The two brothers approached the door and Hester stretched out one hand, grabbing the brass door knocker and letting it fall back against the wood with a heavy, ominous bang. The butler answered the door, holding a handkerchief in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

"Oh, Hobbes, how thoughtful of you!" Hester exclaimed tearfully, grabbing the bottle of wine before the butler could protest. "Wine to drown my sorrows...there is no better Butler in the world!"

"It's for your mother," Hobbes protested. "she is in hysteria and I thought the wine would help."

"Mother shouldn't drink with her heart condition," Hester gently reprimanded. "remember the doctor's orders!"

"I'm sure the good doctor would make an exception, just this once," Hobbes said, annoyed. "she is, after all, grieving for her dead husband."

"As are we all," Glock reminded the butler, sniffling slightly at the thought, and adding in an extra single tear just for good measure.

"Some of us, anyway," Calendar said, giving Hobbes a pointed look. "can we go upstairs and see the body, please? I don't want to be here any longer than is necessary."

"CALENDAR!" Glock shrieked. "How can you not be consumed in your woes???"

"Forgive me," the owl sighed. "but isn't this the third time your father has 'died'?"

"That first time was an accident!" Hester protested. "He nearly drowned!"

"He stepped into a pool because he thought he was St. Peter and had been granted the ability to walk on water!" Calendar reminded him. "There was three feet of water, he couldn't have drowned if he was trying!"

"What about that second time?" Glock forgot his grief for an instant. "He wanted to see life from the eyes of a hawk, so I thought I'd try a little spell, only it backfired -"

"-because your wand is defective - " Calendar muttered.

"-and I turned him into something more resembling a purple mouse, and Calendar nearly ate him by accident!"

"I don't think it would have been entirely by accident, come to think of it," Calendar said under his breath, but no one paid him any mind.

"Really? I remember that," Hobbes mused. "how can we be sure he is dead this time, then?"

"Oh, he is," Hester swallowed more wine. "I saw the corpse with my very own eyes, and he is one hundred percent, most definitely dead."

"Well, no doubts then," Glock smiled and turned back to the butler. "can we come in now, please? It's a mite chilly out here."

"Of course," Hobbes bowed them in. "Your brother Ergo is upstairs with your mother, he came here to pay his respects."

"Is he, really? How good it will be to see the old chap again!" Hester exclaimed as he began his ascent up the grand marble staircase. Hobbes followed behind them, grabbing the bottle from Hester's hand as he passed. They approached the door to their father's room when they heard a loud, low, horrible sound that rattled the door in its frame and caused the walls to tremble.

"My Lord! What is that?" Glock's eyes were wide as dinner plates.

"Hmm," Calendar said. "unless I am mistaken, and Ergo has suddenly taken an interest in playing _Texas Chainsaw Massacre,_ that is your father. Snoring."


End file.
